Jett tapped the end of his stick on the floor with the others, grinning when Wolf rolled his eyes and grunted something in German.
“Our defence is solid, our offence is fast—”
“Our goalie is hot,” Powers added. “And talented.”
“Yes,” said their third-line defenceman, Tev Banner. “That’s why we lost the last game, six to zero.”
“Hey! That pink-haired, Ottawa douchebag fucked up my crease!”
Hellström leaned against Jett’s shoulder to speak quietly into his ear. “My theory is that he gotdistractedby the pink hair, since, you know, he hasn’t shut up about it.”
Jett agreed.
Ryan didn’t seem to care that he kept getting interrupted. He shook his head fondly at the guys around him and put his hands on his hips.
“Okay, the team is great—we’re great. Fraser, pick up your skates and be where I need you or I’ll kick your ass. Wolf, keep Blanchard in line. And Powers—” Ryan turned on his best friend, jabbing a finger into his helmet. “Keep everyone except us out of your goddamn crease.”
“Actually,” said Wolf. “Keep me out of it too.”
The laughter was so loud that their coach had to wait for them to calm down before he could talk and be heard.
“Statistically, we should win this game. Calgary’s best player has more time clocked in the penalty box than on the ice.”
Laughter erupted in the room, and Coach Adams had to wait patiently for his joke, which was not actually a joke, to get out of their systems.
“Listen to your captain and follow our strategies. I look forward to your victory.”
Ryan started chanting, calling their coach’s last name repetitively to pump the rest of them up. They kept going out of the locker room and onto the ice to begin their warm-up, cackling as Coach Adams took his spot behind their bench with a scowl.
Calgary was already out there, all of them stretching and doing their pregame warmups, sending obnoxious insults their way as they skated around the ice. Jett ignored them and got low on the ice, loosening his legs and hips on the cold surface.
He put himself through the paces as fans around them screamed and sang loudly along with the music, the sound blurring together until it became relaxing white-noise. The crowd was a sea of red, but Jett spotted a group of kids in blue pressing their faces to the glass and smiled.
He took a lap around the ice, gathering enough pucks for them before going for a visit. The kids were wide-eyed and jumping with excitement when he stopped on the other side of the glass. It was hard to hear what they were saying, so he just smiled and waved before tossing the pucks over the wall.
He stayed to make sure all four kids had their puck before he gave them a goodbye wave and returned to his spot, getting in line to take shots at Jason so they could get in the zone.
Jett didn’t know why this game felt different, but he had his confidence back by the time he got three shots past Jason and skated to center ice.
“Wow, I guess Toronto lacks talent this season if they let the team’s goldendoodle on the ice.”
Jett rolled his eyes and continued to put himself through his ankle warm-ups.
Blanchard was pacing beside him, keeping to his side of the red line, but he was pushing it. Jett could technically choose to be the bigger person and move away, but he wasn’t the same player as he was last season. Blanchard knew it too, which is why he was harassing him.
“Come on, Fraser—I know you’re a dumb blond, but find your words.”
God, he was fucking annoying.
“I guess you only interact with kids because you can understand them better. How old are you…eight?”
Jett sighed and turned to face Sébastien Blanchard, the NHL fuckboy who was known for his temper and shitty attitude. Fuckboy or not, he was gorgeous. He had a big, charming grin and mischievous brown eyes. His dark hair was already damp with sweat, but he lookeddangerousand ready to play.
“There you are, Fraser.” Blanchard winked, and Jett did his best to ignore how hot his French accent was when it slipped out. “Fuck, you’re even prettier up close. How about after our game tonight, you come back to my place and take a ride on my cock?”
Jett tried and failed to hide his surprise. He wasn’t expecting the vulgarity, nor did he have any idea that Blanchard was into guys—if he wasn’t just teasing him, that is. Any time he saw the asshole on TV or online, he was with a new girl.
“Horse puns from the Colts player. Very original.”
